


Comparison

by Caedmon



Series: Doctor/Rose Prompts [34]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dancing, Episode: s01e10 The Doctor Dances, F/M, Timepetalsprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: There is a certain elegance to him, and Rose wonders sometimes if anyone else sees it, or if she is the sole beneficiary of this side of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the timepetalsprompts weekly prompt - what was going on in the Doctor/Rose's head during any S1 episode?
> 
> This picks up just before the end of the show and goes on for just a few minutes. 
> 
> I own nothing but the mistakes.  
> Kudos and comments are the life blood of the muse. Thank you!  
> Come say hi! caedmonfaith.tumblr.com

There is a certain elegance to him, and Rose wonders sometimes if anyone else sees it, or if she is the sole beneficiary of this side of him. 

His movements are never accidental. Every action of his body serves a purpose, and every one is tightly controlled. His movements are self-regulated; even when he’s agitated he maintains control of his body. He could easily be classified as frenetic, hectic even, sometimes. But the Doctor never lets frenzy take over his body, no matter what his emotions are demanding.

His fury is a thing to behold, and his control shines more brightly in those moments than it does in any other. He is known throughout the universe as ‘the Oncoming Storm,’ and it fits. There is a destructive beauty to him, but it is never unleashed in the way a storm is. He never lets himself out of check. The judgment that he metes out is delivered with restraint. Losing control of himself is unthinkable, he doesn’t trust himself to relax his own iron grip. Rose can tell when his limits are being pushed, because he becomes more deliberate, more reined in, and it thrills her as much as it terrifies her. She knows he would rather die than harm her, but he would rather lose control than let her be hurt, and she knows that too. 

When they dance together the motions of his body are fluid, surprisingly nimble for such a large man. He touches her as if she is a delicate thing, and she knows that he sees her as something breakable. Something he could inadvertently damage if he isn’t very, very careful. She wants to remind him sometimes that she’s not made of spun glass, but rarely does. It’s such a wonderful thing, feeling cherished and treasured, that she lets him. If that makes her selfish, she doesn’t care. 

They twirl around the console, their laughs bouncing off the coral struts and echoing off the cathedral ceiling. He spins her out then pulls her back to him, her body just a fraction closer than it was before. It’s only a tiny bit, but she knows it. She feels that her arms aren’t stretching quite as far to get to his shoulders, feels that the motions required by the dance make their bodies brush against each other more than before he spun her out. 

She feels her heart thudding in her chest, doubletime, and wonders for a moment if that’s what it feels like to have two hearts. 

Rose bites her lip and looks up at him, a question in her eyes. He looks down at her, the answer in the blue depths of his eyes. It’s the answer she wants - she _knows_ it is - but she has no idea if he’ll do anything about it. 

Then his eyes flick to her lips and her breath catches. Without thinking, she licks them, and she sees his eyes darken. His head moves forward the tiniest bit...she raises her face in anticipation…

And a hand claps down on her shoulder. “Mind if I cut in, Doc?”

The moment is gone, snapped like a twig under a boot, his eyes losing the hooded quality they’d had only a moment before in the light of Jack’s attempt to cut in, and he takes the tiniest step back.

“S’up to Rose,” he says. She pleads with him with her eyes - _no, don’t go, stay with me, come back_ \- but the bubble has burst, is lost. The Doctor’s eyes are shuttered, and she knows that he won’t dance with her again tonight. 

“Alright,” she says quietly and with as much enthusiasm as she can muster - which isn’t much. Jack pulls her away from the Doctor with a gentle push to her shoulder, and Rose sees the Doctor’s moments become deliberate, almost thoughtful. He drops his arms, sliding his hands into his pockets as he looks down at the grating. 

“I’ll just leave you to it, then,” he says, and Rose’s heart cries out for him. “Rose, you can get him situated in a room, can’t you?”

_Don’t, Doctor. Don’t do this. Come back._

“Yeah, think I can.”

“Alright, then. Think I’m gonna go kip for a bit. Talk to you in the morning.”

He turns and walks away with heavy, careful steps, and she watches him go sadly, not paying attention to the man who has his arms around her. 

“Bad timing again on my part, eh?” Jack teases, and Rose looks up at him, almost surprised that he’s there. 

“Yeah. A bit.”

Jack just chuckles and begins to twirl her around, just as the Doctor had done. But there is something missing this time; Jack is a superb dancer, but his movements aren’t as joyful, aren’t as elegant. His dance with her is to prove a point. The Doctor was dancing with her for the joy of it - as well as to prove a point. She feels a bit like a toy that two children are fighting over, but she knows who she wants to be with. It’s evident which would treat her with more care and reverence. 

Jack spins her out and back into him, but Rose doesn’t allow herself to get any closer to him. Instead, she misses the Doctor and hopes for another moment to feel his arms around her, soon.


End file.
